her in Dutch before turning to Julie. ‘This is Mevrouw Schatt. She will show you your room and give you your supper presently.’
He spoke to Mevrouw Schatt again, this time in English. ‘This is Miss Julie Beckworth, mevrouw. I know you’ll take care of her.’ He turned back to Julie. ‘I will call for you here at one o’clock tomorrow. Bring your notebook with you. I’ll tell you what I want you to do when we are there.’
‘Where?’
He looked surprised. ‘Did I not tell you? We shall be at the aula of the medical school—a discussion on various types of anaemia. Mostly questions and answers in English.’
Her ‘very well, sir’ sounded so meek that he gave her a suspicious look, which she returned with a limpid look from her green eyes.
He stood looking at her for a moment and she thought that he was going to say something else, but his ‘Good evening, Miss Beckworth’ was brisk. He shook Mevrouw Schatt’s hand and exchanged a friendly remark. At least, Julie supposed that it was friendly; she couldn’t understand a word.
‘Come, miss,’ said Mevrouw Schatt, and led the way up a steep flight of stairs and into a pleasant room overlooking the canal. It was rather full of furniture and the bed took up a great deal of space, but it was spotless and warm.
They smiled at each other and Mevrouw Schatt said, ‘The bathroom, along this passage. If you want anything you ask, miss.’ She turned to go. ‘I make tea for you, if you will come down soon.’
Left alone, Julie tried the bed, looked out of the window and unpacked what she would need for the night. So far everything had gone smoothly. She only hoped that she would be able to deal with the work. Presently she went downstairs to sit in the living room and have tea with her hostess.
The room was charming, the furniture old and gleaming, and there was a thick carpet underfoot, and heavy velvet curtains at the long windows which overlooked the street. Mevrouw Schatt switched on several little table-lamps so that the room was visible to passers-by. ‘It is the custom,’ she explained. ‘We are pleased to let others see how cosily we live.’
While she drank her tea and ate the little biscuits Julie nodded and smiled and replied suitably, and wondered what the professor was doing. If he had liked her, surely she would have stayed at his house? Would his wife object? She presumed that he had one, for he had never evinced any interest in any of the staff at the hospital, and, if not a wife, a housekeeper...
Professor van der Driesma had gone straight to the hospital and checked with his colleagues that the arrangements for the following afternoon were satisfactory. It was a pity that the seminar had to be on a Sunday, but he had a tight schedule; he very much doubted if he would have time to go to his home, but at least he could spend the night at his home here in Leiden.
He drove there now, past the university again, over the canal and into a narrow street beside the imposing library. It was quiet here and the houses, narrow and four-storeyed, with their variety of gables, were to outward appearances exactly as they had been built three hundred years ago. He drove to the end and got out, mounted the double steps to the front door with its ornate transom and put his key into the modern lock to be greeted by a deep-throated barking, and as he opened the door a big, shaggy dog hurled himself at him.
The professor bore the onslaught with equanimity. ‘Jason, old fellow; it’s good to see you again.’
He turned to speak to the elderly, stout woman who had followed the dog into the narrow hall. ‘Siska—nice to be home, even if only for one night.’ He put an arm round her plump shoulders.
‘I have an excellent tea ready,’ she told him. ‘It is a shame that you must dine out this evening.’ She added wistfully, ‘Perhaps you will soon spend more time here. You are so often in England.’ She went on, ‘If you would marry—find yourself a good little wife.’
‘I’ll think about it, Siska, if I can find one.’
He had his tea with Jason for company, and then the pair of them went for a long walk along the Rapenburg which led them past Mevrouw Schatt’s house. He could see Julie sitting in the softly lighted room; she had Mevrouw Schatt’s cat on her knee and was laughing.
He stopped to watch her for a moment. A beautiful girl, he reflected, and an excellent secretary; he had been agreeably surprised at her unflurried manner during their journey from England; with no fidgetting or demands to stop on the way, she had been an undemanding companion who didn’t expect to be entertained. He walked on, forgetting her as soon as he started to mull over the next day’s activities.
He was dining with friends that evening. He had known Gijs van der Eekerk since their student days together. Gijs had married young—a pretty girl, Zalia, who had left him and their small daughter when Alicia had still been a baby. She had been killed in a car accident shortly afterwards and now, after six years, he had married again—an English girl. It was a very happy marriage from all accounts, with Alicia devoted to her stepmother Beatrice, who was expecting a baby in the summer.
He drove to a small village some ten miles from Leiden, stopped the car before a solid square house behind high iron railings and got out, opening the door for Jason. His welcome—and Jason’s—was warm, and just for a moment he envied his old friend and his pretty wife and little daughter; they were so obviously in love and little Alicia was so happy. His evening was happy too; they spent an hour or so round the fire in the drawing room after dinner—Alicia had gone to bed—Jason and Fred, the van der Eekerk’s great dog, heaped together before it.
On the way home the professor addressed Jason, sitting beside him. ‘Do you suppose we shall ever find anyone like Beatrice? And if we do shall we snap her up?’
Jason, half-asleep, grumbled gently.
‘You agree? Then we had better start looking.’
The next morning, however, such thoughts had no place in the professor’s clever head; an early morning walk with Jason was followed by another visit to the hospital, this time to examine patients and give his opinion to his colleagues before going back to his home for lunch.
As for Julie, she had been up early, eaten her breakfast of rolls, slices of cheese, ham and currant bread, drunk a pot of coffee with them, and then, given directions by Mevrouw Schatt, had found her way to St Pieterskerk, where she stayed for the service—not understanding a word, of course. The sermon had gone on for a very long time, but the organ had been magnificent and some of the hymns had sounded very like those at home.
She walked back slowly, looking at the quaint old houses, wishing that she had more time to explore, but the professor had said one o’clock and Mevrouw Schatt had told her that they would eat their lunch at noon.
They got on well together, she and her hostess, who was ready to answer Julie’s string of questions about Leiden and its history. Her husband had been something to do with the university, she explained, and she had lived there all her life. She had a great deal to say about everything, but not a word about Professor van der Driesma.
He came at exactly one o’clock, and Julie was ready and waiting for him.
He bade her good afternoon without a smile, passed the time of day with Mevrouw Schatt and asked Julie if she was ready.
‘Yes, sir. What am I to do about my bag? Shall I take it with me or am I to fetch it later, before we leave?’
‘We shan’t
